Every Teardrop is a Waterfall
by rinkaku
Summary: Sometimes, it felt like he gazed into his very soul—though, he would not confess how marvelous it felt. One-Shot. Spain/Romano.


**Rating:** T: for minor cursing

**Warnings:** a mix of fluff and angst. Human and nation names used.

**Author's Note:** English translation to "_Cada lágrima es una cascada_." Hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Hidekaz Himaruya-sensei owns Axis Powers Hetalia; I do not.

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><p>It was always the delicate things; the things that weren't supposed to affect him as strongly as they had. Day after day his ears were filled with words so sweet and loving that it was stupidly difficult for him to comprehend. Hour after hour his heart itched at the enamored calls of "I could just eat you up in kisses!" or even "Without you, I don't know love, Lovi."<p>

However, even so, the worst part would be the touches and looks the Spaniard spared him. Although one would think that said acts were habitual, Lovino would never be able to become accustomed to them. Never to those ever so tender and loving caresses, hot and fervent and always leaving him wanting more- much to his chagrin. Never to those gazes full of pure and profound love, those shockingly emerald and luxurious eyes that forever promised a loyalty that Lovino had never been able to forget.

"Lovino, you know that I love you, right?" the Spaniard began, his voice a song that made his heart beat faster. "I love only you, my dear Lovino."

He never knew how to respond to these confessions, even since he found himself in the Spaniard's custody in his youth until even today that he's maintained independence with his brother. He'd never conjured up a statement that mirrored the same sincere sentiments the Spanish Nation expressed, but partly because it had never been asked of him. Never had his lack of responses been made aware, much to his surprise. The Italian had begun to contemplate that, just maybe, they were unnecessary for the older Nation; that their relationship was one that could survive without him having to share his thoughts and feelings so embarrassing and humiliating that he has kept locked in the labyrinth of his mind for centuries.

"You love me too, right, Lovi?"

His heart paused in his chest and jumped into his throat when olive eyes were captured by luxurious emerald. It seemed more of a statement than a question to Lovino, and half of him was relieved because of it. The other half, however, ached and gave way to his poor temperament.

"W-what? Don't go around saying stupid shit as you please, Antonio. It's not cute."

The Spaniard's smile falters a bit, Lovino notes, but says nothing to lament what he's said.

"A-ah, sorry, Romano. I hadn't meant to do that, sorry."

The Italian gave a sound of fear and trepidation, his olive eyes glittering. He could not remember the last time the Iberian Nation had referred to him by his nation-name while they were in the solitude of their respective arms.

"N-no, wait, Spain-!"

However, the Spaniard had already turned away, his embrace now simply a memory.

"There's no reason for you to feel bad, Romano. I've already understood that-"

"No!" The normally brash Italian suddenly interjected. "You don't understand anything, Spain!"

His cheeks were painted with a blush, from anger and embarrassment, while the Spaniard found himself violently turning around to face the stunned Italian.

"_Perdón_? Excuse me, Romano, but who's fault is it that I can't understand what you're trying to say?"

The redhead remained silent for a moment, his face expressing his incredulity.

"M-mine, but, a-aren't you supposed to be able to understand what I feel already, bastard!" he began to shout again, his tears painting opaque parallel lines upon his flushed cheeks. "If you love me as much as you say you do, can't you see how much I reciprocate it? What need is there if I've only been with _you_, idiot!"

The Spaniard finds himself speechless, still a bit agitated but it is swiftly dissipated at the sight of having made his love cry.

"But you never _say_ it, Lovi." His response is now a mere whisper, soft and full of anguish and determination, but most importantly, sincerity. "You've never _told _me that you want me, that you _love_ me, Lovino."

His words slam painfully into his heart, thoughts and already befuddled emotions that leave the Italian watching him, wordlessly, for minutes. _Not once had anyone accused him for being reserved. Not once had they taught him how to overcome his dangerous amount of pride in order to express how he honestly feels._

_Not once, had anyone taken the time to ascertain if he was how he was because he knew of no other way of living._

"I, I…" he flushed with an abundance of shame, his stuttering worsening his dilemma. "…You're worth the world to me, b-bastard."

Instead of getting angry as he had thought he would, Spain enveloped him in one of those hugs that South Italy knew were reserved only for him. He said nothing and thought nothing aside from profound love when the Spaniard replied with joyful and tender cries.

"You're everything for me, too, Lovino. _Everything._"


End file.
